


we rebel against our better judgement (and fall despite our best intentions)

by finkpishnets



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-28
Updated: 2008-03-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 09:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finkpishnets/pseuds/finkpishnets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like all great stories, it starts with an ‘I love you’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we rebel against our better judgement (and fall despite our best intentions)

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for S1. Set at some vague, handwavy time during S2. Back dating to when it was first posted on eljay.

_(I love you)_

Like all great stories, it starts with an ‘I love you’. 

Except, it’s not him saying it, and it’s definitely not him being told. He overhears the whispered conversation in Jack’s office as he brings up his coffee, pausing briefly as he wonders whether he should turn back and give them some privacy or, as his instincts automatically suggest, stop and eavesdrop.

The decision’s taken out of his hands when he hears his name.

“Jack, what about Ianto?” Gwen asks, sounding halfway between nervous and ecstatic.

“What about him?” Jack replies, all light and ease.

“I thought...I mean, the two of you...” Gwen stutters, her voice nothing more than a whisper.

“It was nothing...just a fling.” Ianto’s heart constricts and he grips the mug in his hand tightly so it doesn’t crash to the floor.

“Really?” Gwen asks, sounding so hopeful that Ianto’s no longer in any doubt as to what’s happening.

“Really,” Jack pauses before speaking again. “I love you.”

“Oh God, I love you too!”

Ianto doesn’t stick around to hear the rest.

 

_(I hate you)_

He’s cleaning up empty pizza boxes around the Hub when Owen comes in; he’s soaked from the Welsh weather and muttering under his breath and Ianto’s not really sure what the hell he’s doing there because he’d left hours ago. He’s obviously in a bad mood and Ianto really doesn’t want to have to deal with a pissed off Owen on top of everything else that’s happened today.

“Still here, teaboy?” Owen asks when he finally realises he’s not alone. “Hoping that Jack’ll _reward_ you for all your extra hours?”

Under normal circumstances the comment would piss Ianto off, but not enough for him to break out of his perfectly neutral facade. However, everything’s gone fucking wrong today and Owen’s words feel like a final slap and, before he knows it, he’s pinning the other man against the wall, one hand gripping Owen’s above his head, and the other one pushing his hips roughly against metal. He’s so close that he can feel Owen’s ragged breath against his cheek, can see himself reflected angrily in his eyes, and he fights back the urge to connect his fist with that overly wide mouth. 

He’s had enough; he’s just had fucking _enough_ of being treated like everyone’s verbal (and, on occasion, physical) punching bag. He hates Jack for using him, he hates Gwen for being the one that Jack wants, and he hates Owen for always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. 

His lips are on Owen’s before he even thinks about what he’s doing. He kisses him with all the anger, frustration, and bloody _pointlessness_ that is pulling him apart, so focused on his own emotions that he doesn’t even realise Owen is kissing him back. 

_“I hate you!”_ he spits as he backs away, turning around and leaving before he has to face whatever the hell just happened.

 

_(I want you)_

It’s a Friday night and they’ve just finished saving the world again, and are celebrating in a bar where they’ve all had way too much vodka/gin/rum (all three in Owen and Ianto’s case). Jack and Gwen still think their relationship is a secret, that they’re much too clever to be caught out despite the longing glances and lingering touches they’re constantly giving one another but, of course, they’ve never given the rest of the team much credit. 

Ianto likes to think that he would know regardless; Jack’s stopped inviting him up for late night shags (which he’s grateful for because he doesn’t think anyone would _really_ appreciate him shooting their boss whether he can die or not), and Ianto’s always prided himself on his people-watching skills.

What he doesn’t realise is that it’s all a bit of a chain event; he watches Jack and Gwen, Owen watches Ianto, and Tosh watches Owen. Consequently, everyone knows.

But they don’t talk about it.

At about eleven Jack and Gwen make their excuses, heading off to do God knows what, and Tosh leaves shortly after claiming a headache and an early start. Ianto’s not sure it’s a good idea to leave him and Owen alone together considering their mutual disdain, but nobody really gives a shit about either of them anyway, and Ianto seriously doubts they’d miss them until they found their bodies (and then they’d only moan about having to do the clean up themselves).

All in all, the situation requires a lot more alcohol. 

By the time everyone’s being tossed out, clambering into cabs and struggling to stay upright as they meander down the Cardiff streets, Owen and Ianto are both well and truly rat-arsed. It’s a testament to Ianto’s unfailing skill that he manages to whistle down a ride despite being unable to form a coherent sentence, and Owen manages, somehow, to give the cabby his address before they both fall into the taxi. 

Ianto doesn’t remember how it happens but one minute they’re laughing as they fall through the front door, and the next they’re on the sofa, legs entangled and mouths attached in a way that’s very much not accidental, but full of teeth and tongues and breaths that could be moans. It’s hot and messy and _incredible_ , and Ianto’s not sure whether to blame the alcohol or if there’s been something like sexual tension between them _always_ , and he doesn’t particularly care when Owen’s hands are moving under his shirt like that, and _God_ , Owen seems to be enjoying this as much as him.

Ianto knows it’s a bad idea, pulls back to say so, but Owen stops him, kissing him again and whispering something he thinks might be ‘ _I want you_ ’ into his welcoming mouth, and that’s enough.

 

_(I need you)_

It was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance mission; a bit of spying, a bit of scanning, and hopefully an ‘all clear’ conclusion, so much so that Jack and Owen had stayed behind at the Hub, feeling it unnecessary for a complete team outing.

But something’s gone wrong.

Jack and Owen are already worried – communications have been disconnected and the others are over two hours late – so when Tosh stumbles through the doors, limping and trying to support Gwen who has a nasty slash down the length of her thigh, they both rush to their sides. Ignoring all pretence, Jack grabs Gwen, holding her close and whispering sweet, strong words into her ear that Tosh and Owen can’t hear but know anyway. Owen looks Tosh over, discovering a bad sprain and a bullet’s graze just above her ankle, wrapping her up in bandages and injecting her with sedatives.

No one notices Ianto as he all but falls into the Hub, throwing himself into the nearest chair and trying to keep his breathing steady.

‘Owen,’ he whispers, managing to finally catch everyone’s attention. ‘ _I need you_.’

The doctor can’t remember when he’s ever moved this fast, but he throws himself in front of Ianto, pulling his shirt open and wincing at the large segment of metal piping that’s wedged through his side. There’s a lot of blood, more than there should be with the wound still filled, and Owen tries to keep his breathing regulated and his movements steady when all he really wants to do is grab Ianto and hold him and tell him that everything’s going to okay, but he can’t because Ianto has got to survive, he’s just _got to_. He doesn’t even notice that he’s crying.

Ianto’s struggling to stay conscious, biting back the pain that’s ripping through him. He can feel Owen going to work, feel himself being injected with what he hopes to God is a large quantity of painkillers, and thanks all that’s good that he’s at least in the best of hands.

As everything goes black he thinks he can hear Owen crying and it almost breaks his heart.

 

_(I miss you)_

It takes Ianto four days to wake up, and a further twenty before he’s on his feet again. He spends the time mostly sleeping or reading or avoiding crappy daytime TV, and it’s driving him out of his mind. Jack has told him he doesn’t want to see him back at work until next month, not until he’s properly healed; it was a close call, _too close_ , and they need him at his best. Ianto thinks he can see something a bit like apology and a bit like guilt in Jack’s expression and he feels smug despite the throbbing in his side. _Good_ , he thinks.

Tosh comes to visit occasionally, carrying Tesco bags and take-away, keeping his kitchen fully stocked and offering him a break from his day to day monotony. She understands his need to just be _doing something_ and so sneaks in case files and piles of unorganised paperwork, claiming that it’s not strenuous so it doesn’t really count. She still doesn’t tell Jack though, and Ianto feels a surge of pride and affection for her as she smiles sheepishly.

Gwen and Jack don’t visit and he doesn’t expect them to. In fact, he’s really glad they don’t. He doesn’t particularly care anymore; it still hurts, but he’s getting over it and one day maybe he’ll be able to look at them without feeling quite so betrayed.

What does hurt is that Owen hasn’t been by. Ianto’s not sure why it bothers him so much; he and Owen had _something_ but it was brief and bizarre and perhaps it’s a good thing that they’ve spent some time apart, giving them both the opportunity to move past it because it was obviously temporary insanity and too much alcohol and neither of them need _that_ overshadowing their work.

Ianto’s never really been good at the whole delusional thing.

When he wakes up to find Owen sitting dejectedly at the end of his bed, head in hands and looking decidedly like he hasn’t slept in a fortnight, Ianto isn’t sure whether to shout (because according to his bedside clock it’s four in the morning, and, _really_ , there are much more sociable times for a visit) or to hug him because, _damn it_ , it’s been _weeks_!

Owen looks up, his eyes unreadable, and offers him a small, lopsided smile that Ianto thinks looks sort of sad and sort of hopeful but all kinds of real, and feels himself sending one back in return.

‘Hi,’ Owen says quietly.

‘Hi,’ Ianto replies.

There’s a deafening pause in which neither know what to say, or perhaps they do but they’re too afraid to say it.

Owen breaks first.

‘I miss you.’

Ianto smiles, reaching out, and Owen all but falls into him with relief, holding Ianto around the neck and pressing his face into his shoulder, a frustrated sob muffled against the fabric of Ianto’s old t-shirt. It’s uncomfortable as hell and Ianto can feel Owen’s knee digging into his calf and the top of his back propped awkwardly against the headboard, but neither of them dare move – neither of them want to.

‘I miss you, too.’

 

_(I love you)_

They don’t need to say it.

It’s perfectly obvious.


End file.
